


First Night

by eisenhardted



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eisenhardted/pseuds/eisenhardted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their wedding night, Max and Magda try to overcome one particularly awkward hurdle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Night

It’s the night of their wedding and he doesn’t know what to do. It feels so awkward to be there with her, as if somehow saying a few words has changed everything. He thought this was the part he’d most look forward to, it’s the good part, or so he’d been told, but he doesn’t know. He’s still a virgin, still only privy to what the boys in the camp had told him and what Uncle Erich had managed to whisper before being ushered out of the kitchen back in his youth. 

Max knows Magda isn’t though. He knows that she’s been through this before in far less consensual circumstances. It makes him wonder if she’d want to at all, because he’ll be damned if he’s doing something that makes her uncomfortable. He loves her after all, but then again, she loves him and wouldn’t have agreed to marry him otherwise, would she? The doubt lingers in his mind even when she sits beside him on the very edge of their bed, fingers hooking over his in a show of solidarity that he thinks he needs more than she does. 

He’s staring at his feet, neither of them speaking and only making the seconds tick by so slowly. They need to do it once. Legally and religiously, it’s demanded of them, but couldn’t they pretend and have done with it? Would it make them any less in love to forgo sex altogether? Until such time that the both of them were ready? He’s not sure if that’s a good idea either. He thinks he’s already ready, he’s just nervous. Worried he’ll be bad at it, or do something wrong, scared of hurting her, scared of hurting himself. 

It’s only when Magda touches his cheek so very gently that he looks up, his glance apologetic even as she leans in and kisses his forehead. She looks beautiful right now, with her hair back to her shoulders in little bouncy curls, and that lace veil pinned in place just as it had been since the minute he’d been able to push it back. It makes his heart sing, his pulse increasing ever so slightly when she turns where she sits and shows him her back. 

“Can you unbutton me?” Her voice is quiet, but he doesn’t refuse. Even as Max’s hand shakes, he unpicks each button of her borrowed dress one by one, taking the utmost care with this prized of belongings as she stands to step out of it, bare skin and garters already making him gasp. He’s seen bits of her before, only fleetingly, and never intentionally, but this is different. This is like being allowed to look at a painting for the first time, to memorise every freckle and scar just as she pulls her night-dress on over her head and obscures such caramel skin from his view. 

He doesn’t understand at first, why she sneaks under the covers then, resting there and watching him expectantly. It’s only then that he realises it’s an invitation to follow, that this is Magda’s way of permitting him to do his duty as her husband, even if she herself is still on the fence about the idea. If Max thinks he’s nervous, she has it worse. She remembers every time in vivid detail, remembers how it had hurt and how she’d felt afterwards. She’d been told since that it isn’t always like that, been told actually, that if done properly it was the polar opposite, but she wasn’t sure what was fact and what was fiction. She just knew she trusted Max. 

He takes his time in unbuttoning his shirt, folding it neatly alongside his trousers on the bedside table, before his underpants follow suit and a pair of loose pyjama bottoms take their place. He feels so exposed like this, like he’s still growing into himself, half gangly teenager and half man destined to protect his best and dearest friend. Sliding beneath the covers beside Magda, he too remains still at her side as they both stare at the deciling, waiting for the other to make the first move. It’s adorably awkward, they’ll come to consider in a few years time, but for now it feels painful. Like waiting to have teeth pulled. 

“Do you want to…?” Magda asks him in a half mumble, making a point of finding his hand and holding it so very tightly. 

“Only if you do. I won’t…if you say no.” Max replies firmly, even as his voice cracks despite his own conviction.

“It’s our wedding night. We probably should.” Magda whispers again, head turning to look at him as she wriggles in just a little bit closer. 

“…Ah.” He agrees nervously, quickly thinking back to all the advice he’d been given by various members of the more experienced among his circle of friends, only to realise that right now, very little of it was helpful. Rolling sideways to settle over her, his weight is supported by one arm as he fusses with his bottoms, freeing himself from the fabric confines and giving himself a quick check and tug to make sure everything was in working order.

“Tell me if it hurts, alright?” He reminds her then, as his hand begins to explore, drifting over supple flesh and bony joints and learning the presence of every modest curve as if it’s the map on which his life is now based. Magda’s so still through it all, he wonders how she manages, not least when she remains so silent too. He wonders if this is what it’s supposed to be, that perhaps his Uncle had been pulling his leg when telling him how women made all sorts of noises during the deed itself. 

It only dawns on him after that this is a mark of her trauma and not of him. Staying still and silent through it all kept you alive, and he hates himself for making her do this again. The way she smiles at him though, that little way her lips quirk even when he can see the fear in her eyes, makes him warm from head to toe, as if someone’s just set his veins on fire and urged all of the blood in his body to venture so very rapidly South. There’s love in her sacrifice, of that there is no doubt. Which is why he returns the favour and does what he can to make the experience easier. 

He slides inside her slowly, carefully stretching inch by inch, as her nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him, motivating him. It feels odd at first, or at the very least different to begin encompassed by your own hand. It’s like a glove, a warm moist hug encapsulating the very essence of what makes him a man. Making certain his new wife has adjusted, he draws back just as slowly, rolling his hips and closing his eyes at the sensation, before thrusting forward with a gentle degree of force. 

His hand is at her breast after another repetition, thumbs rubbing over the hardened peak of a nipple as it peaks out through a silk shift. Max’s lips find her jaw, peppering kisses along it in a journey to her mouth, before they’re drifting down between her breasts, down towards her stomach, the rock of his hips steady and consistent. He can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t worship this woman, can’t imagine how anyone could ever have dared to think her imperfect when she feels like heaven itself. 

Startled by his tenderness, Magda blinks once, before her lips part in a low moan, fingertips slackening against him as her leg bounces off his back. It’s a sound that makes him freeze, that apologetic urgency etched onto his face when he seeks out her eyes. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry!” He exclaims in misunderstanding, the expression on his face causing Magda to smile at him so very fondly. 

“It didn’t hurt.” She admits to him, back arching ever so slightly to try and coerce him into moving again as she moans for a second time. It’s the longest two minutes of his life, but it’s worth it he thinks, when at last he reaches that hazy little nirvana and finds his release. He doesn’t realise he’s the only one, when he slides from between moist legs, breathless and panting. Magda doesn’t mind though, when she retreats to his side and nestles against his chest. It’s the first time anyone’s made her feel anything positive during sex, and that’s a powerful feeling she won’t soon forget.


End file.
